


When Skies Are Gray

by AxolotlQueen



Series: Striker Eureka Cafe [4]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxolotlQueen/pseuds/AxolotlQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann has a nightmare (again). Newt tries something new to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Skies Are Gray

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in my Striker Eureka Cafe verse (I told you all I wasn't done with it), but I think will make sense without having read all that. You basically just need to know that Hermann has anxiety and semi-frequent nightmares and that Newt tried and failed to become a rock star.
> 
> Set before the last chapter of YHIMC but after the second-to-last chapter. 
> 
> Why do I like writing stories that involve these two, nightmares, and cuddling so much? Science is yet to find an answer.

May 5, 2014

It’s the same nightmare again. The window. The twilight city beyond. The shattered bridge. The monsters. Coming closer. 

He’s had the dream often enough now that he can differentiate among the monsters. There’s the one on the horizon, almost of sight, that seems to be different every time he dreams. There’s the one that sometimes crawls through the streets on it’s elbows, and other times takes to the sky on bat-like wings, soaring around, sometimes very close, staring him in the face and then he’s so afraid he can’t move or make a sound. Then there’s the original one, the most constant one, largest of all the three, a horn on it’s head like some sort of ax. Whenever it comes close...the building collapses.

It collapses now, the roof giving way overhead, a chunk of wall falling onto his right leg, and everything is suffocating darkness and heat and the sound of giant footsteps, and he can’t scream and he cannot make a move-

Then he wakes up. 

He jolts up into a sitting position, one hand pressed up against his mouth, breathing hard and shaking, stomach churning. There’s the now familiar instant of disorientation, where he looks wildly around the dim room, confused to not see pieces of wall over his head, dust in the air, impenetrable darkness. The room settles into place slowly, helped along by the window letting in filtered light from the street, so that he can see walls that are meters away, a ceiling high overhead where it ought to be, a bed beneath him, and the small, huddled figure of Newt next to him. Newt’s room. Not a collapsed city. Safe. 

He lets out a long trembling breath and slumps back against the headboard, dropping the sweaty hand from his mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers, just to make himself feel a little better. It doesn’t help much. 

The nightmares had mostly stopped. They still came every once in a while, but they were mostly dim and distant, and rarely woke him up, so that he had barely even minded them. That lasted for, what, a month? A month of regular sleep - or, well, what passed as regular sleep for him, which Newt did not seem to think was very regular, but he likes to go to sleep at three in the morning and wake up at noon so what the hell does he know.

Then, early May, finals rolled around again. And he can’t help it, they just really make him nervous, and for the last week or two he has been having nightmares, proper wake-you-up-shaking-and-gripped-with-terror nightmares. 

Newt doesn’t understand why the exams make him nervous, he can tell - “Dude, you’re fucking brilliant, you could literally not study and still get passing grades” - and doesn’t seem to too think they matter, but they do. It matters. He doesn’t want to just pass, he wants - he needs - to get good marks. At least as good as before he got hurt. Better would be nice. To prove that what happened to him doesn’t really change anything, and that he didn’t come back to school too soon, and that he's just as good as before and can handle it all and can cope with it all and that he’s strong enough-

Only, is he? Because here the nightmares are again. Monsters in his dreams every night, except for the nights when he can’t get to sleep at all. “You need to sleep, Herm, how you gonna kick ass without sleep?” Newt said yesterday, and Hermann had shouted, “I would sleep if I damn well could!” and then not talked to him for several hours. 

Newt had apologized, once Hermann was willing to listen again - “I’m sorry, I thought you were voluntarily staying up to study more...Is it that bad again, Herm? You look really tired...I’m worried…” - and Hermann had insisted he was okay. 

He just wants to be okay. 

He has a final tomorrow. His first one. He’s not feeling particularly confident about it, but at this point he really doesn’t think there’s much more that he can do other than get a full night’s sleep, only wait no, he can’t do that, because he’s fucking incapable of doing something as basic as fucking sleeping.

He should lie down and try to go back to sleep, but there’s still jittery adrenaline filling him up from that dream - fight or flight, not that he can do either, with his damn leg - and he’s a little, well, he’s a little afraid, because what if he falls asleep to that dream again, or one of the worse ones, the one where he’s running away from a smaller version of the bat monster, or the one where he has to watch helplessly as Newt, as Newt is…

“Fuck,” he whispers again, so tired but so buzzed from the adrenaline, still trembling, still caught in the shadow of fear from the dream that just will not fade. “I hate this.”

His voice isn’t more than a tiny thread, but Newt shifts in bed, rolling onto his back and slurring sleepily, “Hrmnn?” 

“Oh, damn,” he mutters, and reaches out to Newt with a hand, smoothing it lightly over his hair and cheek. “Go back to sleep, darling.” 

Sometimes if he does this, Newt will obediently shift a bit and go back to sleep, and then Hermann will fit himself into his arms and try to go to sleep like that (or just give up for the night and study some more, since he's up anyway) and Newt will have no recollection of it the next day. Other times, like now, Newt opens his eyes - only halfway, squinting in the darkness in a way that makes him look adorably puzzled - and says, in a slightly less fuzzy voice, “Are you up?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Hermann says softly, running his hand through his hair one last time, then retracting it. 

Newt opens his eyes more, and pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Nightmare?” he asks, most of the traces of sleep gone. 

Hermann sighs and leaves that as answer enough. 

“Oh, Herm,” Newt says in that way of his that he has that Hermann hates so damn much. So kind and worried and a little bit pitying, and it always comes out when Hermann admits that he is struggling with his anxiety or his leg, and it always immediately makes Hermann want to cry and just tell him everything about how hard it is. “That sucks. You should have woken me.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, you’re awake now, aren’t you?” he says instead, a little sharp. He hates that too. Newt brings out that kind voice and Hermann’s reaction is always either to become completely pathetic or to act like an asshole; there is no in-between. 

“Hermann…” Newt starts, and Hermann clicks his tongue angrily. 

“I’ll be fine, you can just go back to sleep.”

“...You’ve got a final tomorrow, right?”

Hermann hunches his shoulders and scowls at the upside down image on the shirt he’s wearing: “May the e=mc^2 be with you.” Stupid bloody shirt. It’s ostensibly Newt’s, but Hermann has started wearing it somewhat regularly. It smells like him, like his laundry soap, and Newt got this pleased sort of smile the first time Hermann wore it - after his own shirt become unwearable for certain reasons involving Newt and impatience - and ever since it has been unofficially his, and yes, okay, maybe sometimes he wears it on nights when he’s expecting the nightmares, because it makes him feel better. All right. He’s pathetic. This has been already established. 

“You really do need sleep.”

“Yes, I am aware of this, Newton. Are _you_ aware that talking usually makes it difficult to sleep? Just leave me alone and I’ll probably drift off in an hour or two.” He’s not confident of that. But Newt doesn’t need to know that, and he doesn’t need to lose sleep just because Hermann’s mind is fucking stupid. 

Newt has a final tomorrow too. Hermann shouldn’t drag Newt down with him.

Newt sighs, and Hermann hunches his shoulders more and, stupidly, feels his eyes prickle. He _hates_ this. “Come here, okay,” Newt orders, and tugs on Hermann’s - Newt’s - shirt. “Lie down.”

“Newton-”

“Oh my gosh, just do it.” 

Hermann twists his mouth, then, scowling firmly, lies down, on his back, arms crossed, stiff. 

“You are _so_ -” Newt starts, then huffs and drops it, and instead scoots closer to Hermann. He’s on his side now, propped up on his elbow so he’s looking down into Hermann’s face, and he uses his other hand to push Hermann’s short bangs - a little damp from sweat - out of his face. He presses a kiss onto Hermann’s hairline, and dammit he hates when Newt does that because it’s so sweetly affectionate and seems to expect nothing in response and Hermann actually really likes it and Newt always does it when Hermann wants to be upset or irritated. Damn him. 

“Okay,” Newt breathes. “I’m gonna try something, okay, and you’re just gonna shut up and let me try it.”

“You better not do anything weird to me-”

“Oh my god. I’m not. Don’t you trust- Just shut up. Close your eyes.”

“Fine,” Hermann mutters, and shuts his eyes. He hears Newt take a deep breath above him. “You better not-”

“Shhhhhhhut up.” 

Hermann pinches his lips shut into a tight line, and he can practically hear Newt roll his eyes. 

“Relax, dude. I swear, I’m not gonna do anything weird to you.” He presses his lips to Hermann’s forehead again and says, “ _Relax_.”

Hermann sighs loudly so that Newt can hear it, but makes an effort to loosen up a little bit. 

“Atta boy,” Newt murmurs, a hand smoothing his hair. Which does help with the relaxing, Hermann admits, because he does rather like when Newt does that. He loosens his muscles a little more, and tries to stop thinking, which is nearly impossible because he always thinks, all the time, he’s fairly certain that most of his major issues stem from an inability to stop over thinking everything all the time, all the damn time, he wishes he could just turn off his stupid malfunctioning brain-

Newt’s voice drifts softly through the room, slow and lingering.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…  
You make me happy, when skies are gray.”

Hermann’s eyes fly open. Newt is still leaning over him, his own eyes closed now, his face focused and faraway and somehow very beautiful, as is his voice.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…  
Please don’t take my sunshine away.” 

Neither moves after the song ends. Newt still has his eyes closed, and Hermann can’t look away from him. He’s familiar with that particular song, but he’s never heard it quite so...sincerely before. It sounds a little sad, he thinks, but also very lovely. 

Newt lets his eyes flutter open again, meeting Hermann’s intent gaze. “Dude, I told you to keep your eyes shut,” he says, without any chastisement. 

“What are you doing?” Hermann asks, and it also comes out less heated than he meant. 

“Singing,” Newt says, as if it ought to be obvious, and sits up properly, rolling out the shoulder he was leaning on. And, yes, it is obvious, but that isn’t exactly what Hermann meant. 

“Why?”

“My mom used to sing that to me when I couldn’t sleep as a little kid,” Newt explains. “I always liked it...and, I dunno, that’s what you do when someone can’t sleep, right, you sing.”

“I’m not a child,” Hermann says, still without much irritation. 

“I know that,” Newt says, stroking his hair again. “I just thought it might help.” 

“I suppose,” Hermann says slowly. After a pause, he adds, “That song suits you.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re a very…” He shuts his eyes. “A very sunshiny person.” 

Newt doesn’t say anything for a moment, then there comes another kiss on his forehead. “I don’t know what to do with you when you say sweet stuff like that,” Newt murmurs, very close to his face. Then he can hear a rustling sound that must be Newt sitting back up. “But, dude, I meant that song about you.” 

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know…” Newt says vaguely, then, “You’re, um, you’re my sunshine. Like in the song, you know.” 

Hermann opens his eyes again. Then sits up, to look at Newt, who is playing with the sheets, gathering it into clumps and then smoothing it out again. “I- That’s-” 

He isn’t sunshine. Newt is sunshine. Newt has always been. He’s warm and bright and people are drawn into him, like Tendo, like his bandmates, like Hermann himself...Hermann is, he’s cold and distant and dim, he’s a star at best, a star that is very far away.

But the sun is a star, his mind points out. And a star, if you get up close, it’s like the sun, you just have to get close enough…

Normally people aren’t willing to get close enough. 

“That’s stupid,” Hermann whispers, and wraps his arms around Newt and rests his head on his shoulders. “You’re my sunshine too,” he says, cheeks burning. He wants to apologize for how often his skies are gray, but he holds his tongue. 

“I’m glad,” Newt says, hands coming up to stroke slowly down Hermann’s back. “Cuz you make me really happy, I want to do that for you too, you know.” 

“You _do_. And I, I think it’ll be better when school is over,” Hermann mumbles. 

“You’re gonna do fine, Herm, you’re gonna kick ass, you always do.”

This is blatantly false because Hermann is very often not fine, but he appreciates Newt’s faith in him. “I’ll try,” he says. 

Newt’s hands on his back slow even more. “You know that it’s okay even if you don’t kick ass, right? Even if - and this is totally unlikely - but even if you utterly crash and burn, it’ll be okay, you’ll figure it out, and I’ll still be here, I’ll have your back.”

Hermann holds his breath for ten seconds - counting carefully - then exhales. It won’t be okay. It won’t it won’t it won’t be okay, it will not be okay. But Newt doesn’t need to know that. “Thank you,” he says, appreciating the offer, at least, even though he might not want Newt to be there, seeing him be massively not okay - but no. No, he will want Newt there. Damn. 

“You’re a badass, Herm,” Newt says. Hermann nods his head against his shoulders. “I like that you just take it now when I say that.”

“You keep saying it no matter what I do.”

“Cuz it’s true.”

Maybe it is true. Sometimes Hermann likes to believe it. Because, after all, he has gone through a lot and come through, and even though at moments like this he’s not okay, he’s still doing...better. Absolutely better. He’s in so much better shape than he was at midterms. And that's...impressive, right? That he's doing better. That he isn't letting the anxiety take him over. He takes another deep breath and notes that the tightness in his chest that he always associates with his anxiety is starting to ease. 

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Newt says when Hermann doesn’t say anything more. “Lie down. Shut your eyes.”

Hermann goes obediently this time, and instead of lying stiffly on his back, curls up on his side, and presses his face into Newt - Newt's hip, as he is still sitting up - and lets his eyes, which are starting to get a little heavy, drift shut. 

“You’re so cute,” Newt whispers, a hand on his head, and before Hermann can tell him to shut up, starts singing the lullaby again, the sound almost disembodied in the dark, quiet room. Hermann wonders at how his peculiar voice can sound so soothing, pretty even, and feels the corner of his mouth tug up slightly when Newt emphasizes, “ _My_ sunshine.”

“Asleep yet?” Newt asks when the song is over.

“No,” Hermann says. 

“Oh. Should I sing it again?”

“Sing one of your songs,” Hermann says into his side, apparently too soft as Newt says, “What?” and he has to repeat, louder, “I want to hear one of your songs. That you wrote.”

“Really, dude? You don’t...mind?”

Hermann shakes his head. 

“Okay. Yeah. I’d like that,” Newt says, and Hermann thinks he sounds a little nervous, oddly enough. He takes a deep breath, and begins, a little hesitant at first, but growing stronger as he goes.

Hermann recognizes the words - Newt sang this at the gig of his that Hermann went to, back before he left for Germany, and the words repeatedly refer to stars and laws of gravity, so of course it had caught his attention - but the song sounds different sung without any musical accompaniment, slow and low in a dark, quiet room, with Hermann’s face pressed up against Newt so that he can feel the sound waves vibrating through his bones. It sounds...important, that is the best word that Hermann can come up with. It sounds important. Hermann focuses his minds only on that sound, on those words, on Newt’s soft voice, filling him up.

When Newt trails off into silence, Hermann is surely more than half asleep, but he manages to say, “I like that the best of all your songs.”

“That’s good, you’re supposed to,” Newt says.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Wrote that for you.”

“Really?” Hermann says, half-opening his eyes, then deciding he can’t be bothered to keep them open.

“Yeah, dude, duh. You think I’d write a song about physics and about space and stuff and have it not be about you?”

“Oh. Oh. I like that.”

“I’m glad,” Newt says, and wiggles down so that he is properly lying down, and pulls Hermann in so his face is against Newt’s neck. “I could never perform that one in Germany,” he admits quietly. “It made me too sad.”

“That’s good,” Hermann mumbles. 

Newt laughs. “You’re pretty much asleep, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Good. Go to sleep, darling.”

Hermann nods, then says, “Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry the rock star thing didn’t work out,” Hermann says quietly. Then he admits, “I’m glad too, because then you might never have come home, and I’m glad that you came home. But...I know that that meant a lot to you, and I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” 

Newt presses his lips up against Hermann’s forehead again, then draws away enough to say sincerely, “Thank you, Hermann. That means a lot. To hear that from you. Thanks. And...you know, I’d have come back anyway, even if we got super famous, I’d have come back to try and win you back, for sure.” He snickers and says, “You could be my trophy husband. You’d be great at it, I bet.” 

Hermann presses his face tighter up against Newt so that Newt cannot possibly see him smile stupidly at “husband.” It’s simply because he’s very tired and stressed out, that’s the only reason that makes him smile. All he says out loud is, “You’re an idiot.”

“ _Your_ idiot,” Newt says, and even though Hermann isn’t looking at him he knows exactly what expression Newt is making, because whenever Hermann calls him an idiot he says “ _your_ idiot” and gets this maniacal smirk on his face. He’s really really an idiot. “Now go to sleep, Herm, for real this time.”

“Mm. Okay. You too.”

“I am, Herm, don’t worry. Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” 

“Love you,” Hermann is half-aware of saying. He doesn’t hear if Newt says it back, too close to sleep for that, but he’s sure he does.


End file.
